


Notice me

by katharctic



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Awkward Jean, Falling In Love, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1550981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katharctic/pseuds/katharctic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean has it bad for a certain freckled bookworm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How it Started

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine finding love when you're supposed to find the answers to your homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: Merged Chapter 1 and 2

The library was mostly empty when an annoyed looking teen pushes through the heavy mahogany doors. His brown eyes search the library sections for History and drags his feet towards the aisle beneath the label. The place is eerily quiet, one of the reasons why the teenager detests this place, and he makes a mental note of bringing his iPod the next time he is required to visit the library again.

He pulls out a few books that look like they might contain the information he is searching for and brings them to the table closest to the section, which happens to be the table furthest from the entrance.

He hears the doors swing open and his head snaps up to see another teenaged boy enter the library. He's never seen this boy in school before, he has short raven hair, with fringes parted at the middle, freckles scattered across defined cheekbones, and black-rimmed glasses, but he isn't surprised since he doesn't know a lot of people anyway.

 _Nerd_ , he thought before turning his head back to the task at hand. He takes out his laptop and types in his password beside an icon of himself. _Welcome Jean Kirstein_ , the screen greets. The wallpaper is of him and his friends in a cottage and in the background, the stretch of the blue horizon blends in with the blue green of the sea. Jean eyes go over the desktop icons and he smirks at the face covered by the recycle bin. He's forgotten how long that has been there, and he doesn't really hate the tan-skinned brunette, but the placement never failed to amuse him so he never thought to move the icon. A few clicks later, a new document is opened and he begins typing the necessary stuff: his name, the date, the title. He stares blankly at the screen, lost at what to do next.

 _Connections are available_ , notifies a small white box by the bottom right of the screen. _Cool, this library has Wi-Fi,_ he regards, mildly impressed. On another day, Jean would have jumped right at the opportunity and click connect, but his paper didn't require the internet, rather, it didn't allow it. Their over-enthusiastic teacher wanted them to "embrace the original informative power of books." Jean scoffs at the memory, the internet has plenty of books and he just can't understand what kind of power he was supposed to embrace here, but at least they didn't have to _write_ this down and "experience life without modern technology." He huffs out a short exhale before he goes to open one of the heavier-looking books he picked up.

He is distracted by the screeching sound of a chair being pulled back. Getting distracted is easy when you aren't really into your work and he sees Freckles McGlasses seat himself facing him on the other end of the library. He directs an annoyed expression towards the boy but is casually ignored when the boy opens his own book. Jean rolls his eyes and tells himself to stop procrastinating.

A few hours drone by and as the sun was starting to set, Jean suddenly hears a laugh, a sound he deems foreign in the confines of the quiet domain.

He looks in front of him, towards the boy bathed by rays of tangerine light. The boy is unconcerned towards his environment, his consciousness clearly engulfed by whatever world the words are pulling him into. He sees that the boy's hand is covering his mouth as his shoulders fight minor tremors and his freckled cheeks are scrunched up his eyes. The glasses have been pushed up his head, holding back his short fringes, and a handful of strands of shiny black hair stick up haphazardly. A few tremors of laughter later, the hand is brought down, revealing perfect rows of white teeth smiling down at the pages. 

Jean couldn't bring himself to stop staring, the boy's candid outburst was too endearing for him to stop.

When he looks back at the eyes made golden by the streaming sunlight, Jean finds his new favorite place in the world.

 

* * *

Jean returns the next day to finish his paper. It’s not the only reason, but it is _a_ reason, he thinks to himself as he taps his fingers on the keyboard, not really typing. The reason doesn’t actually explain why he intentionally left his iPod despite having remembered that the library is deafeningly silent, but it was too late to complain now.

Unfortunately, the day is Saturday, and if the freckled thief of hearts doesn’t arrive in an hour, the university library will close and he will have to return another day. He _has_ to find out which days the boy will be in the library.

Jean figured the boy must visit the library pretty often, owing to the fact that _he_ _looked like somebody that would be in the library pretty often._ The evidence isn’t sound, because you can’t really judge people based on their looks, but Jean is hopeful.

The heavy doors swing open and Jean immediately looks up, scratching his head of part-blonde-part-brown hair when he realizes in disappointment, when the person’s face came into view, that that wasn’t the head of raven hair he was looking for.

More words are typed out on the keyboard as more and more minutes tick by. Jean finally finishes his paper. He takes one last look around. Frustrated, Jean gathers his stuff and rushes out the door, only to find _the_ raven-haired person he wanted to see. But with thirty minutes left on the clock, Jean reckons _fuck it_ and goes back to his seat.

The freckled boy raises an eyebrow at this and Jean catches a few moments of it and only just realizes he must have looked weird. He is not the type to care, but the fact that the thought had _only_ just crossed his mind had him thinking about how bad he must like this guy.

_I like his smile. Yeah, that and his eyes._

Jean fumbles back to his seat and turns his laptop back on. He plays Minesweeper, waiting for the object of his attention find a seat, and hums to himself when said object sits at the same place he did yesterday. _At least I’ll know where to find him._

 _Freckles McGlasses,_ Jean decides to call him, likes _sci-fi_ , if the spaceship on the cover of the novel he is reading is any indication. Jean rolls his eyes and slouches against his chair, levelling his eyes with the top of his laptop.

He curses when he accidentally clicks on a mine because _dang it_ he almost won that one, but he really doesn’t know what else he was supposed to do now that Freckles was here.

After a few more minutes of playing, Jean calls it a day, seeing him today was enough, and he can’t really do anything much about his little crush anyway. _They didn’t know each other._ He figures he can probably change that, but not now, it’ll be too fast, and because so far, he only likes his face. _What if he’s a dick? I don’t like competition._

The thought earns a quiet chuckle from himself as he gathers his things again. Freckles McGlasses didn’t _look_ like a dick, but then again, Mikasa didn’t either. The girl is near apathetic towards anyone that isn’t Eren or Armin. The opinion sounds bitter, because it is, but Jean’s thoughts are his and he can’t really be bothered by sounding noble inside his own mind.

Memories of getting ignored by someone he likes flash by Jean’s head as he exits the door and he almost fails to notice a certain freckled boy brush past him, leaving a scent of cinnamon. _Why cinnamon?_ _Was he eating in the library?_ Jean stares at his back.

“Marco!”

Jean is suddenly brought into the presence of the boy’s smiling face as another student runs to catch up to Freckles.

“You left your ID on the counter.”

“Oh, oopsies. Thank you!”

The first word Jean ever hears from him is _Oopsies._

“No prob. See you Monday!”

“Yeah, see you!” Freckles McGlasses beams at the nameless, faceless student Jean doesn’t regard before walking off. 

_No. it’s Marco._

Jean is left standing in the hallway, dumbstruck.

_Oh no. He’s adorable._

“Marco.”

He says the name to himself, loving the way the sound rolls off his lips.

Monday _._ He’d definitely be back on Monday.

 


	2. Jean's fateful day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Jean's jeans' fateful day.
> 
> ;)

True to his word, Jean does return on Monday. After his last class of the day, he almost skips towards the library, bringing the materials he needs to study, deciding that he might as well get something useful out of stalking.

Nothing noteworthy happens that day, or the next few days and weeks even. Jean is seemingly content with seeing Freckles McGla – Marco in the library. Occasionally, Jean catches the smile that got him stuck there in the first place. He also keeps his position across the room from Marco to be in audience with the same gold-brown eyes that shine along the setting sun.

Nothing _happens_ , but Jean _learns_ a lot. His position is strategic and he is made privy to Marco’s little ticks and habits:   

  1.     He pinches the bridge of his nose _frequently._
  2.     If only one hand is holding the book, the other hand alternates between rubbing an earlobe, tapping the table (quietly, of course) or idly resting above his head.
  3.     Sometimes, he puts his book down and stares at the window, almost like he is contemplating what has happened.
  4.     He _makes faces_ at the books, probably at the characters in it.
  5.     His hands are always gentle on the books. He flips pages carefully.
  6.     He doesn’t snore. (Information taken from the three times he caught Marco sleeping)
  7.     He ignores his phone when it lights up to a text message. (Okay, no texting while reading then)
  8.     But he does answer calls. (Outside)
  9.     His foot never stops tapping (Only _almost_ an exaggeration)



Jean does indeed learn a lot. Also in a different sense. His class marks have actually risen thanks to the times he decides to give staring at Marco a break but if the freckled teen noticed Jean’s stares, he doesn’t show it. 

The only time Jean’s existence was acknowledged by the freckled teen happened only recently, on a Friday afternoon, when he dropped the chair’s foot on his own and cursed loudly. Marco’s head snapped up from his book and smiles worriedly at Jean when he found Jean’s deer-in-the-headlights face looking at him, his eyebrows arched, wordlessly asking Jean if he was okay. Which brings Jean to the 10th thing he learned about Marco.

    10.  Marco is, undeniably, of angelic descent.

Jean replays that moment in his head: Marco’s chocolate brown eyes on his own, his caring smile as he puts down his precious book, his timid nod when Jean awkwardly smiles at the room, and suddenly, Jean is not content with just observing anymore.

He wants to be on the receiving end of that smile, he wants to hear his voice, and he wants to actually _talk_ to him. He wants Marco’s attention and he doesn’t mind if he has to share that with _books._

Things are easier said than done. Jean doesn’t know how he is to go about such motions, but fate gives him a chance, although Jean is not sure if he can call himself lucky.

 

* * *

 

 

It was another afternoon when Jean looked over to Marco’s usual seat. Sure enough, he was already there with a book in his hands. Another novel, Jean notes as he leans back against his chair, bringing an open book up his face as he pretends to read. He stares at the freckled teen like the stalker that he is and again marvels at how focused those beautiful brown eyes were in words of fiction, ignoring pretty much everything else around them.

The two-toned youth idly imagines those eyes on him and his breath hitches when he notices that he wasn’t imagining it. His own eyes widen at the contact and he awkwardly smiles, forgetting that he still had a book in front of his face. The moment did not last long, however, for Marco had already returned to the world created by the pages, putting the book down on the table to rest his hands on its edges as he continues to read.

But things happen when you are bored. You daydream.

Jean pictures himself spread open like the book in Marco’s hands, with Marco’s fingers gently caressing his thighs the same way they were currently smoothing over the pages. He imagines Marco breathing him in, and the novel is suddenly brought up in front of Marco’s face and Jean sees this as Marco bringing his chest to his lips, having Marco breathing fire onto Jean’s skin. Marco’s fingers brush over the novel’s spine and Jean silently moans at the idea of having Marco’s fingers trail down his back.

Within a few minutes of his imagination, Jean feels the tightening in his pants and he stares in horror at his crotch. 

 _I am so royally fucked,_ he groans and slams his head hard on the table.

He keeps his head down, knowing that all eyes are looking in his direction because that was such a loud sound and _fuck,_ his dick is still standing in ceremony, and he proceeds to quietly bang his head repeatedly over the flat surface, trying to erase the images from his head. He spends a few minutes in this position as he tries to cool himself off. No such luck, though, he’s still painfully hard.

A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his reverie.

“Are you okay?” A familiar voice asks.

 _Speaking of luck._ Jean nods his head, refusing to look up and reveal the heat singeing his face and his nether regions.

“Are you sure?”             

He nods again, chanting _please leave please leave please leave please –_

The chair beside his is dragged back, allowing a certain raven-haired male to sit beside him.

“I’ll be here. You know, just in case.” Jean nods for the third time and brings his hands on top of his head. They both are quiet as Marco continues to read and Jean utters a litany of _Samara, Jason, Chucky, Freddy, and Pennywise_ in his mind. In a different scenario, he’d probably be glad that Marco was within close proximity of him but right now, he is just wishing that Marco would leave him alone.

He is staring at his clothed erection, willing it to _calm the fuck down_ but the universe seems to have a different plan for him when a cool hand slides down the nape of his neck, which, in Marco’s defense, was the only place he could touch.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your breathing is kind of funny. I could bring you to the clinic.” Marco offers and Jean sighs. 

“I’m okay. I’m just really tired.”

“Umm… I’m Marco, by the way.” _I know,_ Jean doesn’t reply. “I see you here pretty often, and that’s saying something because I’m here every day.”

“Jean. I do research.” He answers gruffly.

“Oh, okay. What about?”

“Homework.”

Marco chuckles, a sound Jean records in his memory. “Every day?”

“Our professors like to keep us busy.” Jean lies.

Marco hums in response and turns back to his novel.

A few minutes of telling himself _this is your chance_ later, Jean takes a deep breath and sits up, but not before crossing his legs in an attempt to hide his boner.

“Sorry, I… uh… needed to rest. I’m Jean Kirstein.” He smiles at the boy beside him. “Thanks for being concerned enough to check up on me.”

“Marco Bodt.” Marco raises his hand in front of him. Jean shakes it, feeling the surprisingly rough hand against his own did nothing to help the tent pitching in his pants, but hopefully, Marco is not looking _there._ “You don’t have to thank me. You need a break every once in a while. You study every day.”

Jean feels his face heat up in a blush as he finally realizes that Marco has in fact, _noticed him._ He drags his palm down his face and covers his mouth when he says, “So do you.”

“Me?” Marco chuckles, “No, I study at home.  I’m trying to read all the novels in this library.”

“Why?”

“I just want to.”

“Nice, strong drive you’ve got there.”

Marco blushes. “T-thanks.”

A moment of silence passes.

And another.

And another.

“So, how far have you gotten with that?” Jean asks.

“Not far enough. There’re sooooooooo many books here.” Jean finds himself looking at Marco’s lips as it drags out the O’s.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Marco laughs and scratches his head. _Marco laughs._ Yeah, Jean likes that sentence.

“Anyway, Jean,” Marco begins, “I have to go. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here.”

Marco waves at him when he reaches the door, still smiling that adorable smile.

Jean is left in his seat, still smiling even after the doors swing close and still sporting his raging boner.

A blessing in disguise indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much deeper can Jean fall?


	3. The world behind the books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon for Marco is that he is absolutely adorkable.

Marco Bodt has always been a sucker for good lucking guys but then again, who wasn’t, right? So after almost a week of seeing the tall-ish, grumpy-looking student in the seat a table away from him, Marco finally allows himself to call the said tall-ish, grumpy-looking student his crush.

He has never talked to the guy and never has he ever heard his voice, but Marco imagines it to be deep and gruff, much like the boy himself. The boy’s brows are slanted, slightly scrunched together permanently and although he still looks surprisingly attractive like that, Marco can’t help but wonder what would happen if he tried to flatten the area with his fingers.

Marco sees him there every day. Sometimes, he comes with his laptop, sometimes with a music player in hand, but always with books and notes, so serious and dedicated to his task that Marco can’t help but smile at the gaping difference between his appearance and his… study habits? When the boy hunches over the table to read his notes, scratching his chin and biting the inside of his mouth, he looks so annoyed, so bothered by what he has to study, but he does it anyway, and Marco finds that quite amusing.

Marco feels like he’s being stared at sometimes, but when he looks up, the feeling disappears and Marco doesn’t want to flatter himself or get his hopes up by thinking that the boy across him would be looking at him. He giggles at the idea of having those eyes on him. Marco has never been close enough to the boy to see what color his eyes are - thanks to his bad eyesight and the inaccurate prescription of his glasses - but it looks like it would be somewhere between hazel and honey and Marco just really wants to know soon.

 The first time he ever heard the boy’s voice was when he cursed at the chair beneath him, scowling at it before he realized that he swore out loud. The boy’s eyes dart around the room before they land on Marco’s. His eyes were so wide with shock that had Marco wanting to ask if he was okay, but he smiles worriedly at the boy instead. Said boy smiles back before he takes another look around the room and sits down.

 _Now that’s better._ Marco thought. _So grumpy can smile._

Fast forward a few days.

Marco is reading a new novel and in the midst of a dragging chapter, he pauses to look at the boy he’s been crushing on, only to quickly look back down at his book when the boy catches Marco looking at him. He shifts his position and puts the book down on the table to avoid eye contact. _Wow, that’s the first time I got caught. And I thought I’d be keeping my streak._

A loud thump echoed across the room and Marco sees the boy’s head down on the table when he looks towards the source of the sound. _Did he fall asleep?_ Marco chuckles. But no, the boy’s head is slightly rising and falling repeatedly. _What the heck is he doing?_

He decides to check up on him. Because something might be really wrong and also because he wanted to talk to the boy; the opportunity is really too good to pass up. He walks over to the boy’s table and catches his attention by lightly placing his hand on the boy’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

The boy nods, rubbing his head on the table.

“Are you sure?” The boy nods again and Marco sees the boy’s pinkish ears. He decides to pull out a chair. _Maybe he’s sick._

“I’ll be here. You know, just in case.” The boy nods before he places his hands on top of his head, covering his reddening ears. Worried, Marco stays in the seat, and notices the boy’s uneven breathing. He rests the back of his hand on the boy’s neck to check his temperature. The boy is really warm, but not the feverish kind of warm, so Marco asks, “Are you sure you’re okay? Your breathing is kind of funny. I could bring you to the clinic.”

At this, the boy sighs, and Marco is worried that he is annoying the boy.

“I’m okay. I’m just really tired.”

Marco sighs out a little in relief. And would you look at that, he was right: his voice _is_ deep and gruff. Marco smiles to himself until he realizes he hasn’t actually introduced himself yet and he was already acting chummy with the boy.

After his introductions, Marco learns that the boy’s name is Jean. _Jean._ Finally, a name for the face he’s been seeing in his daydreams. They exchange short words until Jean sits up, and Marco’s eyes, which have already been looking down at Jean, spots the tepee in Jeans pants and he immediately looks up to Jean’s eyes. Which, was a good decision because, _gosh_ did Marco like Jean’s eyes. They were like honey, sweet and _pretty_ and deeply set. They were beautifully framed by Jean’s slanted brows and defined lashes.

Marco finds himself distracted by Jean’s eyes as they converse about the reasons they’ve been frequenting the library. So distracted that Marco almost forgets about Jean’s boner.

Almost.

He puts two and two together because that was most probably why Jean was physically uncomfortable talking to a stranger. Marco couldn’t blame him, he gets boners out of nowhere too. So Marco, being as considerate as he is, bids Jean goodbye.

Once he was out of the library, Marco pumps his fist into the air and there are very bouncy springs on the balls of his feet when he skips toward the bus stop.

_I know his name, he knows mine! We can be friends!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Marco. _Friends_
> 
> I'm sure you've already noticed, but I'm pretty much making this fic an outlet for my JeanMarco frustrations. I should probably apologize, but I'm not really sorry. :D :D :D :D :D


	4. Finally

Their daily routine stays the same, save for a few minor changes: Jean now sits right across Marco, this having been decided when said teen waves him over. Jean still brings his notes and studies, Marco still reads his books and they both still steal glances at each other but this time, they talk.

In bouts of conversation, they find that they have almost nothing in common.

One time, Marco borrows Jean’s iPod, only to visibly flinch when a rock song drums in his ears after he presses play. Marco nimbly plucks the earphones off his ears and returns them to Jean. Jean would have been insulted had Marco’s reaction not reminded him of a startled little animal. Jean soon learns that Marco likes listening to instrumentals, preferably the classic, renaissance ones. _Because they don’t disturb your thoughts,_ Marco reasons out.

Jean, in turn, has no patience for novels. _I cannot get past the first chapters,_ he says. Marco had asked why he is able to tolerate reading textbooks and Jean shrugs it off, answering with a simple “Because I have to.” However, Jean points out that he doesn’t mind spending time on comics. Marco nods, having read a few comics here and there.

Over the weeks, they learn more and more about each other: Marco likes pineapples on his pizza, Jean does not; Jean believes that Big Foot exists, Marco does not; neither of them like horror, but Jean is a fan of action and suspense while Marco loves comedies.

They debate, they bicker, and they tease each other’s tastes, but unbeknownst to one, the other tries a few things that the other mentions and finds a few that they actually do like. Their differences make them an odd pair of friends but they didn’t mind. The contrast of interests is what makes their conversations lively and fruitful.

On an afternoon when Jean decides to take a break from studying, he challenges Marco to a game of chess in his laptop. Marco accepts and Jean finds a new sparring partner. They are equally good players, but not equally good sports.

Jean doesn’t take well to losing.

He either sulks or challenges Marco to a new game and when Marco ever felt the need to see those lips pucker in a little pout, he would decline. Jean would go back to transferring notes or studying, Marco would chuckle before he returns his attention to his book, and the comfortable silence would settle back in the air.

Perhaps it was their mutual attraction that allowed them to become this way, to be able to do a lot more than tolerate each other, but their original motives still haven’t been forgotten. Neither of them wants their relationship to remain platonic.

In between the arguments, the games, and the silence, there are glances that linger for a little longer than normal and there are lingering touches, of skin lightly brushing against skin and of feet smoothly sliding against each other. And in between those, there would always be the dusting red of cheeks, or in Jean’s case, ears.

The desire to take things a step further is there but neither knows _how._ They stay in this near-uncomfortable stalemate until…

“Marco.”

The freckled teen doesn’t answer, his face buried deep in the book.

“Pssssssst.” Jean harshly whispers.

“Bodt.”

Still no reaction.

“Oi. Freckles McGlasses.”

Marco chuckles at the nickname but makes no move to stop reading. Frustrated, Jean bends over the table and grabs the book in Marco’s hands, seeing Marco’s impression of an irritated face replace his view of the cover.

“What, Grumpy? I was just getting to the good parts.” Marco squints at him.

The nickname earns him a scowl from Jean. “Why do you read like that?”

“Like what?”

Jean rolls his eyes, takes Marco’s open book and literally buries his nose in the middle. “Like this,” Jean says, his voice muffled.

Marco brings down his glasses down in time to see what Jean is doing. He blushes.

“Because I can’t see.”

“Then use your glasses.”

“I don’t like wearing them.”

“Wear contacts.”

“I don’t like them either.”

“Then go get laser surgery or something.”

“No way,” comes Marco’s stubborn answer. “Too scary.”

Jean laughs.

“How bad is your eyesight anyway?”

“I’m practically blind.”

“Naww.” Jean coos, taking Marco’s glasses from the bridge of his nose. Marco just stares blankly at him as his vision goes blurry.

“How many fingers?” Jean asks, waving his index and middle fingers in front of Marco’s face.

“You have ten.” Marco replies, and Jean rolls his eyes yet again at the sarcasm thickly coating Marco’s seemingly innocent voice.

“Seriously,” Jean begins, “how close do I have to be for you to be able to see?” he moves his face closer to Marco’s, actually and honestly curious.

Marco fights back his blush and he regards the blur moving towards his face with the most neutral face he could muster when suddenly, the idea hits him. _Now or never,_ he decides, squinting harder at what most probably is Jean’s face and gives the air a dramatic pause before he sits up to acquaint his lips with Jean’s.

“This close.” Marco says suavely, before his brain shuts down in embarrassment.

It was quite a smooth move. However, it wasn’t Jean’s lips he kissed.

Not all of it anyway.

Marco’s lips collided with Jean’s bottom lip and chin. He doesn’t notice this and he sits back down and Jean follows suit, both their brains going haywire.

They are both blushing profusely, but Jean looks like he’s about to blow his fuse. _Marco missed._ Jean thought. _Marco fucking missed_ yet his heart beat is still erratically wild and he keeps thinking: _He missed._

Jean’s brain functions revolved around that simple phrase when he stood up again, bending over the table and grabbing the collar of Marco’s shirt, and pulls Marco towards him in a full-blown kiss.  

“This close.” Jean repeats, his lips moving against Marco’s.

Marco grins that toothy and goofy grin, and presses his lips on Jean’s once again.

“I like you.”

“I know. I like you too.”

They leave the library that day with smiles from ear to ear, having each other’s hand in hand, and shoulder against shoulder. When the doors close, the library echoes with sighs and mentions of one word:

“Finally.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These kids actually forgot they were in public.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, it's done! Omg, I've finished it! I'm sorry if the ending's abrupt but I felt like their awkwardness and dorkiness would get redundant if I continued it. 
> 
> That and I've already exhausted all the situations I planned out in my head.
> 
> Wow. I'm full of excuses. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!   
> No, not my excuses, I'm referring to the plot-less fluff.


End file.
